


Fill In The Blanks

by iridescentglow



Category: Bandom, Brand New, Straylight Run
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-18
Updated: 2006-01-18
Packaged: 2017-12-23 03:32:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iridescentglow/pseuds/iridescentglow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jesse's reaction to hearing 'Your Name Here' for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fill In The Blanks

"Thought I'd find you here," Michelle said without preamble. She approached slowly and took a seat at the swing-set without fully acknowledging Jesse's presence. Her eyes flickered absently across the sky (it was almost dusk and the sky had turned a soft grey, dyed ominously at the edges with red); she kicked her heels, disturbing the dirt underfoot. Her swing lifted briefly into the air, creating a slight sigh. Finally, she looked over Jesse and smiled. "I'm sorry I'm not him."

Jesse leaned back against the swing-set's frame. "I'm not," he said shortly, trying not to frown.

Long Island was beginning to buckle under the weight of winter. The cold weather had fallen fast and hard, and Jesse could already feel icicles beginning to seep to the very ends of his fingers. Soon enough it would be too cold to haunt the playground every night. Soon he'd have to stop waiting around—for something, some _one_ he didn't want to see.

"He wrote you a song," Michelle said quietly. She still seemed distracted, unconcerned.

"I heard." Jesse bit out the words, his face crumpling under the desire to glare. He shrugged further inside his jacket—even though he was enjoying the cold, the seeping numbness.

"No, not that one." Michelle kicked off harder, sailing further into the air. In her white parka, she was a ghostly smear on the edge of his vision. The wind seemed to suck the air from her lungs, because she continued breathlessly, "not the stupid screaming one."

Jesse cast a sideways glance in her direction and she met his gaze with a clear, pure smile. "It's pretty," she said simply.

The anger rose up in his throat like vomit. "I don't know why you think I give a shit, Michelle."

She halted the swing with a single motion. "I just thought you should know," she said evenly. "That he misses you. Even though he'd never say it."

She stood up, walking the few steps that separated them. She fumbled in her pockets—paused to yank off her gloves—and then fumbled some more. Finally, she produced a CD, sheathed in a flimsy plastic wallet. She held it out to him.

"What do you want me to do with that?" he asked tonelessly.

"Take it." Abruptly she seemed to lose patience. "Take it or I'm throwing it on the ground."

"Go ahead," he muttered.

There was a challenge in Michelle's eyes as she met his gaze. She paused for only a moment. She tossed the CD at his feet and began to walk away.

"Take care, Jesse." Her voice was soft, her words almost swallowed by the wind, as she cleared the parameter of the playground.

Jesse looked down at the ground. The CD looked forlorn and displaced. Reluctantly, he bent to pick it up. The words _your name here_ were scrawled ambiguously across the disc in John's unmistakable handwriting.

*

John was lolling sleepily on the front step when Jesse arrived. Jesse noticed the bottle of Southern Comfort as he climbed out of his car and reassessed the situation accordingly. John did not move to greet him, leaving Jesse to meander up the front path.

"Remember when we were... ah, 12?" said Jesse, "You stole one of my Smiths CDs"—the words had been a bitter and triumphant tirade inside his head, but now they were planed flat by tiredness—"and then you made Michelle give it back to me because you felt bad? You were a fucking coward then, and—"

John's head snapped up. "Michelle?" His eyes widened, just slightly, revealing a drunken precursor to panic. "Wait. What did she do?"

Jesse forged doggedly on with his speech. "I don't forgive you. I'll never fucking forgive you—"

John stood up slowly, unfolding his limbs one at a time. "How did you know I'd be here, at this address?"

They were face to face now. "I _won't_ ," Jesse muttered. He kissed him fluidly, closing the gap between them without further explanation.

John's compliance—his willingness to let Jesse control the kiss—was a new thing, although whether it was as a result of drinking, simple surprise or genuine chagrin, Jesse couldn't be sure. John allowed himself to be pressed against his own front door. His movements were clumsy, awkward as he struggled to maintain a satisfactory grip on Jesse, who writhed restlessly in his arms, pushing John forcefully backwards. "Hey, hey," he whispered desperately against Jesse's lips, "slow down." But Jesse's mouth opened against John's, his tongue probing insistently, fighting teeth to find the hard wetness of reciprocal pressure.

John was gasping when Jesse finally broke their kiss. Jesse reached past him, twisting the door handle.

"So are you going to show me the new place?" Jesse said roughly.


End file.
